


pagan of the good times

by jessbobess



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Other, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-01 14:11:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2775920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessbobess/pseuds/jessbobess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>collection of drabbles and one-shots, mostly centered around bellarke, all based off single-word prompts. tags will be updated as is necessary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. bullet

**Author's Note:**

> the title comes from the song "take me to church" by hozier. it doesn't really have anything to do with the drabbles, i just like the lyric, ahaha. so this first one is really angsty, but i like to think it has a happy ending that you just don't see here?

He saw what was about to happen in Cage’s eyes before he’d even raised the gun. 

If he put himself in Cage’s place, it made sense. The mountain men were losing - and here, at the front of it all, stood a small, blonde girl with fire in her blue eyes. Cut off the head, and the body dies. All of this was Clarke’s fault, after all. If she’d just accepted the happy facade that Mount Weather had presented to her, they wouldn’t be here.

But she hadn’t, and they were, and Cage Wallace was a desperate man who had just killed his father and was mere seconds away from killing Bellamy Blake’s best friend in the entire world.

He didn’t even have to think about it, really. He moved faster than he thought he was capable, and he splayed his arms out to each side, as if he could catch a bullet in his bare hands - but that didn’t matter anyway, because it was already buried in his stomach, burning hot metal drilling a hole in his flesh. He felt the impact, but noticed that there was no pain - an illusion, of course; his body was in shock, it simply hadn’t had time to process what was happening to it. The pain would come.

For now, though, it felt as if time slowed down. Bellamy felt his own face contort in surprise - _stupid, stupid,_ he thought, _you’re the one who threw yourself in the line of fire in the first place_ \- and saw Cage’s expression match his face. But on the older man, the shock only registered for a moment, because in the next the warrior Lexa appeared out of the fray and plunged a crude-looking dagger into his neck. The gun that shot Bellamy fell from his hands, and Cage’s body followed, crashing to the ground. Lexa stood over it triumphantly, her knife wet with dark blood - she didn’t spare a glance for Bellamy.

He didn’t fall back, but he did stagger. Bellamy took a few halting steps backward, his hands instinctively feeling for his midsection, like he was making sure it was still there. When he took his hands away, they were coated in blood - why? Was he hurt? Did he hurt someone?

_You got yourself shot, idiot._

Oh. Right.

A muffled voice was pushing its way through the rush of blood in his ears, and slowly it became clear enough for him to discern what was being said. His name - just his name, repeated over and over.

“Bellamy? Bellamy! Oh, God-”

Clarke. Her hands were gripping his elbows tightly, holding him upright; it was then that Bellamy realized he was swaying dangerously. Unwilling to fall on top of the one he’d just taken a bullet for, he leaned forward, holding out a blood-soaked hand to stop his fall. The world was spinning. A dull ache was forming in his abdomen. Bellamy looked up and saw her, face lined with concern - with horror -

“Clarke.” His voice was rough, hoarse. “Are you okay?”

“Am I-” She laughed desperately, like she didn’t know how else to react. “Am _I_ okay? Oh, my God, Bellamy, what did you _do_?” She pressed her hands against the wound in his stomach, trying to stop the bleeding as best she could. Her touch sent electric currents running across his skin, which he briefly noted was an odd thing for him to be feeling as he was most likely bleeding to death.

“Saved your life,” he managed. “You’re welcome...for that.” His breath came in ragged gasps, and the shock of the bullet’s initial impact was wearing off fast - it felt like his whole torso was on fire, no, his whole body, his whole world, and there were the burning flames and the battle still  raging around them and Clarke, Clarke, Clarke.

Another laugh from her, this one more genuine, but with a bit of sadness in it as well. And damn it, there were tears running down her cheeks - as beautiful and blue as her eyes were when they were filled with tears, he hadn’t meant to make her _cry_ , he’d only wanted to make her _not dead_ -

His eyelids started to droop at the same time that his head lolled forward. Darkness tugged mercilessly at the corners of his vision. Blood, he was losing too much blood. “No no no no,” Clarke was saying, one bloody hand on his cheek, willing him to stay conscious, “no, Bellamy, please don’t do this - you can’t do this, you can’t - God, you’re so stupid and brave and _stupid_ \- don’t do this to me, Bellamy, stay awake, please.”

Words. Say something.

“Couldn’t-” - so much effort, so much pain, not enough blood - “-leave them...without their...princess,” he choked out. His mouth tasted like metal - that was wrong, blood wasn’t supposed to be in his mouth - if only Clarke would just stop looking so fucking sad -

Her eyes were the last thing he saw, his name from her lips was the last thing he heard before the darkness dragged him under.

 


	2. blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to sam who suggested the prompt for this chapter. idk what this is, really? i tossed a few different ideas around, but none of them were coming out quite right, and eventually it just turned into...whatever this is. enjoy. c:

A conversation that occurred when the sun was at its highest point in the sky:

“I used to play I Spy with Octavia, back on the Ark.”

“...Christ, Bellamy, you scared me.”

“Tell it to someone who cares.” A pause. Then, “Did I mess up your painting?”

A laugh from the girl. “No, you didn’t mess up my painting.”

“Oh. Good.”

“But you don’t care, huh?”

“Nah. Not at all.”

“I’ll just have to take your word for it. What were you saying?”

“What?”

“I Spy. With Octavia.”

“Right. It was just one of the things I did to try and keep her from getting too bored, you know. Not that it really helped much. But it was hard, because our quarters on the Ark were...really small. Just one room, actually. And really bland.”

“So ‘I spy with my eagle eye something gray’...”

“...meant the entire room. Yeah. Anyway, after a while I snuck picture books out of the library - don’t look at me like that, princess, you’re a criminal too - and we would play using those.”

“Imagine if you got locked up for stealing _children’s books_ , though, Bellamy.”

“Shut up. God, you’re unbearable, can’t a man tell a story?”

“No.”

“The point I’m trying to make is O decided that her favorite color was blue. I don’t know if it still is, but it definitely was back then.”

“So you interrupted my painting a masterpiece for the ages to tell me fun facts about your sister?”

“No, I - a _masterpiece for the ages_?”

“Can’t a woman delight in her own work?”

A laugh from the boy; a shake of his head. “You know the first thing I noticed when the dropship door opened, that very first day?”

“How much heavier your big head was under the effects of Earth’s gravity?”

“I’m going to ignore that.”

“Sure thing.”

“It was the sky.”

A knowing hum from the girl. “Mmm. It’s blue.”

“Yeah.”

Comfortable silence.

“I always thought colors were for pictures. There was so little color in space.”

“And you never realized how depressing it was until we came down here.”

“Exactly.”

“Your eyes are blue.”

“Ha. Not the same as the sky, though. They’re not nearly as pretty.”

The boy disagrees. He thinks they’re prettier. He doesn’t say.

 

 


	3. Complicated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was written before the mid-season finale, so (spoiler alert) finn is still, you know. not dead. just wanted to make sure nobody was confused by the mention of him, or the fact that raven is like, entirely fine. also, i don't know why this took me so long to put up, i sincerely apologize!

“Sometimes I think it would be easier if they just hadn’t come down.”

Bellamy looks up from the knife he’d been sharpening. He’s not sure when this became His Spot, this little cluster of rocks at the top of a hill, jutting out towards the vast expanse of forest that bordered Camp Jaha. He’d just started coming here, one day, to sit, and watch, and think; and then at some point or another Clarke had joined him, and he found that he really didn’t mind at all.

“What?”

“The Ark,” she clarifies, pulling absently at the grass.

“Oh. Right.” He searches her face, noting that she doesn’t seem to be satisfied by his response. She’s looking at him with an expression of uncertainty, one eyebrow raised in a silent question. _Is that terrible? Is that wrong?_ “No, I--well. You know how I feel about that.”

“Felt,” Clarke corrects, and he hates her for knowing him so well. (He doesn’t hate her at all, could never hate her.) “After Jaha pardoned you, you changed your tune.”

He considers this for a moment. “Not entirely,” he says, and she nods in response; of course she understood that already. “I knew that once the rest came, it would be...different.”

She smirks devilishly. “The king didn’t want to give up his throne.”

“Ha, ha.” He starts to pick at the grass, too, running his fingers along the thin, rough edges of the blades before tossing them at Clarke in vain. (Grass, as it turns out, is not meant to be thrown; it sort of floats to the ground in a pathetic, twirly way as opposed to doing anything remotely close to hitting its intended mark.) Clarke reaches out for the loose blades and places them in a small pile that’s amassing in front of her crossed legs. “Poke fun all you want, but don’t pretend that’s not exactly what you mean.”

She sighs and dusts the grass from her hands, leaning back onto them and looking up at the sky. (Sometimes, the Earth takes him by surprise all over again - he’ll be walking around, talking to Octavia or Clarke or Finn, and suddenly he’ll smell the crisp night air and just think wow. This is one of those times - the sky is just so blue.) He does the same, but it isn’t very comfortable so he elects instead to lie flat on his back, folding his hands together and placing them under his head like a pillow. They stay like that for several minutes, watching the clouds move lazily across the sky.

“I can’t describe how happy I am that my mom isn’t dead,” she finally says. Bellamy looks instinctively toward her, but she’s still looking upward, her slightly furrowed brows the only betrayal of her frustration. “And everyone else. Really. But it’s just become so…”

“Complicated,” Bellamy supplies, taking in the way the sunlight reflects in Clarke’s eyes.

  
  


He knows that his anger toward Abby Griffin is irrational. He knows that Clarke is Abby’s daughter, the thing she cares most about in this world, and the one person she would move heaven and earth for if it meant protecting her from further harm. He knows she wasn’t here in those first few months, knows she didn’t see her baby girl stepping up and taking charge, saving lives and - he would be lying if he didn’t admit it - kicking ass. He knows she’ll never be able to stop worrying; that it’s a mother’s job to worry about their child. Bellamy Blake _knows_ all of these things, and yet he still feels heat bubble up in his chest every time he catches Abby treating Clarke like a kid.

Finally, he tells her.

(He doesn’t mean to. Honestly. It just kind of...comes out. That happens, with Bellamy.)

“For fuck’s sake, Dr. Griffin,” he scoffs, throwing his hands into the air in frustration, “if you would just _trust_ your daughter, we’d get so much shit _done_.”

Abby’s eyes go ice cold. Her posture tightens, seems to swell. (An image floats in the back of Bellamy’s mind, then, of a porcupine - he tries to push it down before it makes him snicker. He’s stupid, but he’s not suicidal.) To her left, Clarke stands, apparently a little bit affronted - but there’s something else in her blue eyes, too, something that Bellamy can’t help but think is a smug gratitude.

Jaha, who has been lurking on the outside of the room, half-supporting and half-contradicting the acting Chancellor, steps in with a startling quickness. His eyes flash a warning - _stand down_. “Show some respect, Mr. Blake.” His tone is biting, almost resentful, Bellamy thinks - this man is a far cry from the composed leader he remembers from the Ark.

“I trust Clarke,” Abby says, her voice deadly calm. “It’s the rest of the world that I have a problem with.”

Bellamy barks out a humorless laugh. “Bullshit.”

He thinks it’s a little harsh, what happens next; what with the guard in the room pushing him to the ground and yanking his arms back to place his wrists in the (too-)familiar metal cuffs. He can hear Clarke objecting, though, and he decides that’s good enough for him.

 

 

_We’re not animals,_ Kane had said, yet here they were throwing him in a cage as if that’s exactly what he is.

He’s been placed in ‘custody’. Again.

This time, it’s for attempting to leave camp after a direct order from Abby to stay put. It was stupid of him, really; he should have at least waited until things had calmed down and the guards weren’t so on edge. But the 47 were still locked away in Mount Weather, and with each passing day that they didn’t make a move to rescue them, he grew more and more agitated. Time was running out for their friends.

To his surprise, Raven is already there when Byrne escorts him to what appears to have gone from a temporary holding cell to a permanent one.

“Hey,” she says, looking entirely nonplussed at his appearance. Byrne is scowling at the both of them. Just to spite her, Bellamy grins and winks in the older woman’s direction. She flushes red before she turns to leave.

“What’re you in for?”

Raven’s mouth sets, like she doesn’t really want to say. “Wick.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “That’s all you’re going to say? Wick?”

“He dragged me into some shit prank on Kane. I did the dirty work, I’m the one they caught, so hip, hip hooray for me.”

Bellamy snorts. “Well, at least we know you’ve got a type.”

She doesn’t dignify this with a response, which he judges as fair. Instead, she stares at him with an expression of intense bemusement, before looking away and stretching out her bad leg. “Mouthing off to Abby again?”

“Something like that.” He gives the handcuffs chaining him to the wreckage of Alpha station the dirtiest look that he can muster. “The littlest things are setting them off, lately. It’s beginning to feel more and more like the Ark. I hate it.”

“Mm,” says Raven. Her tone is neutral, and she’s most likely just being polite, but Bellamy decides to take it as a hum of agreement.

They sit in silence for a few minutes after this - it’s not quite uncomfortable, but it’s not a natural silence, either. Eventually, Raven shifts and catches Bellamy’s eye. She has a weird, knowing look on her face and is doing that almost-smile thing that she does, and it’s making Bellamy bristle.

She stares at him like this for a moment. Only a moment; but it’s all that he can take.

“What?” he snaps.

Raven shakes her head and shrugs, clearly amused. “Nothing. Just - you know they don’t matter, right? Kane, Abby, Byrne, Jaha. All of us - the 100, or what’s left of them - still believe in you and Clarke. And nothing’s going to change that. They could make every last person in this camp Chancellor before giving you two any real authority, and we’ll still back you up.”

He allows her words to sink in. “You don’t need to humor me, Reyes.”

“I’m not,” she says, and when he meets her eyes, he know she’s telling the truth.

 

**Author's Note:**

> as stated, all these drabbles are based off of one-word prompts, which will serve as the title for their respective chapters in case you're curious. if you have a word that you would like to see me use as a prompt, please feel free to leave it in a comment letting me know, and i'll see what it inspires :)


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